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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823453">"Classical Poetry"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrPalSoup/pseuds/TrickyNicky'>TrickyNicky (UrPalSoup)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Bees, Cold, Colors, Creepy, Dark, Death, Depression, Flowers, Grief/Mourning, Ice, Implied Relationships, Loneliness, Macabre, Magic, Multi, Mystery, Overthinking, Paranormal, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Apocalypse, Red String of Fate, References to Depression, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Symbolism, Unrequited Love, Winter, Witchcraft, Witches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:41:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrPalSoup/pseuds/TrickyNicky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of poems from both 2019, now, and, possibly, onward.</p><p>Tags will be updated with each poem that's added.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Character &amp; Original Character, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a poem from April 2019. I took a prompt from a list--that prompt being 'dead'--and then wrote this. I had a lot of thoughts about death back then, as I was in a very bad place mentally, so this came to me pretty easily.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roses can be orange,<br/>
Caskets can be black,<br/>
Dead bodies can be cold,<br/>
Depends on if they’re fresh.</p><p>Roses can be blue,<br/>
Caskets can be bronze,<br/>
Dead bodies can be grey,<br/>
Depends on if they’re fresh.</p><p>Roses can be red,<br/>
Caskets can be silver,<br/>
Dead bodies can be you,<br/>
Depends on if I’m weeping.</p><p>Roses can be yellow,<br/>
Caskets can be brown,<br/>
Dead bodies can be me,<br/>
Depends on if you’re smiling.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Apartment 27B</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a poem from March 2019. This was one of the many poems I wrote based off of a list of prompts--I assume, anyways. I'm not sure why I decided to take the route that I did with this, but even now I like how it turned out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’m moving into<br/>
The apartments just down the block<br/>
From the market in the square.</p><p>I’ve found myself curious,<br/>
As once I got the key,<br/>
The clerk whispered to me,</p><p>“Never stop by apartment<br/>
27B.”</p><p>Curiouser and curiouser<br/>
Did I ever grow,<br/>
Till finally I decided to stop by.</p><p>I rapped on the scarred door,<br/>
Tested the rusty handle,<br/>
Even peeped through the peephole</p><p>Of apartment<br/>
27B.</p><p>No one answered,<br/>
And nothing was inside,<br/>
So I gave up and left it behind.</p><p>One dreary morning<br/>
As I trudged down the hall,<br/>
I paused at its door, and decided to knock</p><p>On the door of apartment<br/>
27B.</p><p>‘Twas the gentlest knock,<br/>
And yet the door swung with a bang<br/>
That revealed a gloom.</p><p>This gloom was dark as pitch,<br/>
And all was utterly still,<br/>
'Cept for the creak of a lone rocking chair</p><p>Within the confines of apartment<br/>
27B.</p><p>I narrowed my eyes,<br/>
Gaze set on that croaking chair,<br/>
Till through the gloom I saw</p><p>An old woman sat there.<br/>
Her eyes were closed, skin pale as snow,<br/>
And she smiled real slow</p><p>As I took a step into apartment<br/>
27B</p><p>Only for the door to<br/>
Swing shut<br/>
Behind me.</p><p>I sat and had a chat<br/>
With that lonely old lass,<br/>
Till her skin was clear, and mine wrinkled,</p><p>And she left me there alone in apartment<br/>
27B.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Frostbite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a poem from March 2019. The original title was Frostbite. I'm not really sure what caused me to write this one.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cold, cold, cold;<br/>
Yes, cold is all I can feel,<br/>
From my frostbitten cheeks<br/>
Down to my frozen over heels.</p><p>These barren wastelands<br/>
Of blue, blue, blue<br/>
Send a shiver down my spine,<br/>
The flags flying high;</p><p>Flags that tell of our nation<br/>
That was lost to the cold blue<br/>
That crashed overhead,<br/>
And froze these bleak lands.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This poem was written in November 2019. The night before I wrote this poem, I noticed how, whenever my parents turned on the porch light, it would flood into my room and make everything appear blue. Since blue is a color commonly associated with sadness and depression, and, as was previously mentioned in the summary of another poem, I was not in the best mental space at the time, I decided to write this.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blue.<br/>
Blue everywhere.<br/>
It drowns everything out.</p><p>The crimson, the emerald, the ash;<br/>
The peach, the blonde, the indigo;<br/>
The maroon, the mahogany, the plum.</p><p>When the blue comes rushing in,<br/>
When it crashes down over everything,<br/>
When it takes over my mind.</p><p>It is all consuming.<br/>
It is always hungry.<br/>
It is always watching.</p><p>It waits for the perfect time<br/>
To strike,<br/>
To cover everything like a sick blanket.</p><p>It is suffocating.<br/>
It is too powerful.<br/>
It is much too much.</p><p>Blue.<br/>
Blue everywhere.<br/>
It drowns everything out.</p><p>It's not navy,<br/>
Not teal, cyan, sky, royal,<br/>
Not aqua, cadet, powder, dodger.</p><p>Just blue.<br/>
Blue everywhere.<br/>
Blue, blue, blue.</p><p>I wish I could make<br/>
The blue stay away,<br/>
But it always comes back.</p><p>It's always going to come back.<br/>
But I'll try to keep it<br/>
From taking over my brain.</p><p>Sometimes, though,<br/>
It's just<br/>
Much too much.</p><p>Blue,<br/>
Blue,<br/>
Blue.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Puppet on a Lonely String</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This poem is from 2019. I had been thinking about soulmate strings, which then led me to thinking about people having strings for every relationship; platonic, romantic, familial, all of them. So what happens to the strings of those that are no longer in your life? What happens to the strings of those that you have cut off? The result of that train of thought had me writing this as soon as I got home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I can see the strings<br/>
Tied neatly about each finger,<br/>
The one wound so tight<br/>
Round and round my neck;<br/>
Others sprout from my back,<br/>
They shine with a golden light,<br/>
Bright yellow roses flowering from them.</p><p>The one that chokes me<br/>
Late in the night<br/>
When I think of how no one out there<br/>
Is for me, considering who I am,<br/>
Glows a glorious red,<br/>
Crimson roses and their thorns<br/>
Wound about it.</p><p>From time to time<br/>
When I look back at them<br/>
I see some of them cut off,<br/>
The roses withered away,<br/>
Nothing but a grey, lifeless shape<br/>
Lying there on the floor<br/>
Next to the severed, matching string it grew from.</p><p>And maybe I'm just crazy for believing that<br/>
A small part of me truly does remind me<br/>
That it was I who cut<br/>
Those strings,<br/>
Who made those flowers<br/>
Die off so soon,<br/>
Never having really given them a chance to bloom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Forgotten (Again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wrote this on the 8th of January this year. This is a vent piece.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Curled in on themself,<br/>They take a deep breath<br/>As they try to steady themself,<br/>Their mind filled with plastic dreams.</p><p>The world around them is empty and dark,<br/>It's all so quiet, here, in their head,<br/>The silence makes them wonder<br/>What happened to all the noise.</p><p>They stare, unseeing,<br/>Into the empty as it dawns on them;<br/>They've been forgotten about yet again,<br/>But can they really blame anyone for forgetting them?</p><p>They see people in their mind's eye, smiling, laughing,<br/>Loving them and hugging them, but<br/>They know that it could never be.<br/>No one loves them like that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wrote this in 2019. This is how I liked to describe my anxiety and thoughts back then.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's bees in my brain.<br/>They bizz and they buzz.<br/>I want them to<br/><em>Shut the fuck up.</em></p>
<p>But how do you get bees<br/>To shut the fuck up<br/>When they are trapped<br/><em>Inside your brain?</em></p>
<p>The bees seem to think<br/>They are in control...<br/>And I suppose that<br/><em>They are right.</em></p>
<p>And though I can wish<br/>And pray to gods who won't answer,<br/>The bizzing buzzing bees in my brain<br/><em>Will always be in control and correct.</em></p>
  </div></div>
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